


i could be stuck here for a thousand years

by snivellus (queervulcan)



Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: Aromantic Character, Aromantic Hermann Gottlieb, Asexual Hermann Gottlieb, Dissociation, I accidentally turned this Newmann Im so sorry but it isn't graphic so, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Mind Control, Post Uprising, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Recovery, Spoilers, qpr, queer platonic relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-03-27
Packaged: 2019-04-13 18:52:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14118702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queervulcan/pseuds/snivellus
Summary: when the evening shadows and the stars appear and there is no one there to dry your tears, i could hold you for a million years to make you feel my lovebased upon:this





	i could be stuck here for a thousand years

No one talks about the after. How suddenly Newton went from the one looking after Hermann to Hermann now having to knock his cane against him in his rougher moments, because a little sting is usually enough to remind him to stop chasing the rabbit.

All his mangas made the protagonists who went through deeply, deeply traumatizing, fucked up situations seem super cool and amazing and brave but- they don't talk about After.

* * *

Newton’s hands shake more often than not, these days. His entire life's work was dedicated to him being able to hold his hands steady, to the study and biology of these creatures, and now his hands just won't stand still, even after sitting on them.

The first time he tries going back to the lab after the disaster, his hand slip up so badly that he causes everything to come tumbling and sliding across the floor, him going with it, because he can feel Alice and her tendrils over his body, holding him, caressing the deepest parts of his mind.

He wakes up to a new bruise around his neck, one that matches the one Hermann has, and his hands are restrained to the medical bed.

* * *

Newt got tattoos because one, he's a rockstar to be and they look pretty badass, and two, because they were a reminder of what he was fighting for and against.

These days, he can't stand to look at them. He keeps his sleeves rolled down even as he haunts what's left of Shatterdome, because war tore their homes apart and this is all they have left. More people leave, but Hermann stays, refuses to budge even when Newton wakes them up with his screams, knowing Hermann has to be at the lab at 6 am sharp.

Newt sometimes catches people watching him, their eyes drifting down to where he now hides tattoos he's tried to scratch off, unsuccessfully if the wad of tissues in their bedroom is any indication.

They make him want to shrivel up even more, curl further into himself, speak less and more quietly, but Hermann usually just taps his cane against his thigh in a reminder that he isn't alone, and sometimes Newt flinches away from that reminder, thinking of her, and sometimes he leans towards it, seeking and accepting it.

* * *

Newton has always had a proclivity for losing time. He is- was- a scientist, a genius one at that, and losing time for days sometimes came hand in hand with his work. It never was a huge problem, because rebooting his mind usually took a manner of a quick nap and some coffee-energy drink concoction, but these days-

These days, he has an extra consciousness to carry with his- two, in fact- and he can barely carry his own.

So, Newton loses time. Sometimes it is mere hours of staring at the ceiling, not wanting to think about what's next now that he's useless in a lab (not that he would be willing to go back, not anymore, not after having seen Kaiju’s intimately).

Sometimes it is days, and Hermann himself only realizes he hasn't moved in days because those are the same clothes from three days ago, and the stubble on his chin is threatening to become a scraggly beard.

When he comes to, it isn't soft and pretty like the anime’s make it to be, it's with gasps and shaking hands and screams that wake up his room mate and have him doubled over in his bed, seeing double, seeing triple.

* * *

Newton’s mother had inadvertently installed a leap before looking attitude into him. She had left him as a toddler, leaving him to wonder if he wasn't good enough, and that had resulted in placing himself in more and more perilous situations, hoping to gain a scrap of her attention.

That blasé attitude is what hurt him last time, what caused ten years of not knowing up from down some nights, of knowing Alice more intimately than he knew Hermann or even himself anymore.

He stops leaping before looking. He stops a lot of things, really. He throws away his rockstar music, Hermann watching somewhat approvingly but mostly just disconcerted as he cleans up every scrap of the apartment he can find, deep cleaning every centimeter he can fit into, and the place has never looked so clean. He has never been so clean in his living arrangements. He decides he likes it, continues to deep clean every few weeks, because it gives his hands something to steady on and himself something he can control all by himself.

The first night Newton asked Hermann to come back with him quietly, Hermann had eyed him suspiciously but came with him. He had given Hermann the bedroom, stating he didn't sleep much anyway, and Alice could never change that, but they both saw the haunted look in his eyes when he glanced anywhere near the bedroom.

Hermann doesn't sleep much, either, but that's beside the point.

* * *

Newton had grown around people who have no concept of personal space, but After he keeps all his limbs to himself, keeps his mouth shut more often than not, learns to not laugh so loud or dress so brightly, learns to become comfortable in clothes he would have scoffed at before.

Newton hadn't realized just how much those ideals had rubbed off on him, because for a while, he misses the always touching other people, always laughing with some stranger he had just met five minutes ago but already exchanged emails with.

He learns to grow comfortable with it, learns to grow comfortable with who he is After.

* * *

One day he slipped in his mumblings and started talking about how he labels things Before and After, and Hermann- always Hermann, because seeing anyone else he knows is too soon, he is not ready and may never be- was absolutely horrified, to the point where he had to put down his teacup lest he drop it from his shaking hand, his free one pressed over his mouth in horror.

He gasps his name, once, and Newton is already out the door, running as fast as he can, because _no_.

* * *

Newton was never overtly sexual, being so smart about the wrong things never made it easy to form connections with people his own age, and apparently, own species.

Every time he thinks about even touching himself, just to see if he can, Alice pops back into his head and he ends up hunched over the guest bathroom toilet, throwing up whatever he had managed to eat that day.

Before, Before Alice, he had briefly considered Hermann, up until he realized not only was he asexual, but aromantic as well, and well, he didn't want to push the guy. These days, however, he cannot push it even if he had wanted to.

Thinking about anything, about everything, causes his breathing to speed and remember.

So he doesn't interact with strangers past handing over tip money- impersonal and quick.

* * *

Newton’s favorite past time used to be to pick on Hermann, to tease Mako over her growing up amongst old men, and sometimes Tendo’s hair when he wasn't in the room.

These days, his favorite past time is rediscovering who he was, who he is and can be. There's not much in the speed of which he does it, but he figures it's better than laying in bed most days.

* * *

It's close to Christmas and he thinks he can see his old friends, those that are alive and can stand to see him, and they crowd into his apartment and _fuck_ , why did he think was a good idea?

It takes stepping outside, walking around the neighborhood in nothing but jeans and a hoodie, because he's felt worse than a little hypothermia, until he's coming back about thirty minutes later after he's paced the nervous energy out.

Hermann is waiting in the foyer of his complex, his parka Newton used to poke fun at in his arms. Newton knows with a startling realization that he is waiting for him, even though the cold that seeps through the thick windows must be causing his leg pain.

Hermann offers the parka wordlessly, letting Newton decide if he wants it, and Newton takes it with a tight, but no less appreciative smile.

They go back upstairs without speaking, and Newton itches in a new way, waiting for the other shoe to drop, waiting for him to ask. He doesn't.

That Christmas Newton is gifted with a stack of notebooks and simple, cheap pens, and a handwritten note stating they are so he can organize his memories and what he's thinking. His other gifts are more complex, a brand new shiny camera from Hermann and a stack of memory chips.

He's a little nervous- alright, _a_ _lot_ nervous- about the implications, wondering if they can read this thoughts and actions, but no, he's alone in his head again, Hermann’s ghost drift not counting because that is faint now, so faint he barely remembers it most days.

* * *

Newton uses the notebooks religiously, writing down his every thought, every memory he can remember from Before and even After.

Sharing a consciousness with another being didn't leave him with a lot of room for himself.

He decides to take photos of everything, from Hermann in different positions and settings, to his friends and himself doing mundane things, and glues them onto the pages of his notebooks that aren't taken up with chicken scratch of thoughts and memories of what he did that day. He writes about himself and them, what he likes and what he remembers of his friends, where they all come from, basic facts he can fall back onto when he forgets who he is.

* * *

Newton was almost always the smartest person in the room, that having only changed when he met the K-Scientists, but these days he doesn't feel very smart.

He knows all the knowledge is tucked somewhere in his head, in safe keeping, but he can't access it and he knows why and it leaves him stuttering over his words until he grits his teeth in frustration and pounding a fist against his thigh.

He tries again, and again, and again and again to get out the right words, in English and German and even the Mandarin that makes him want to scream, but no language is enough to stop the snowballing in his mind, and eventually he just stops trying to say much of anything.

* * *

One day a stranger touches him on accident while he is on an afternoon walk, and he screams for so long that police are called and the emergency contact is called- Hermann- and he is in a hospital the next thing he remembers.

He decides to check himself out against medical orders, Hermann not even protesting because it's _his_ body, he just follows behind him with the steady thumping of his cane a counter beat to the frantic fluttering in Newton’s own chest.

He realizes that day, how to say no, how to not bow down to what others want. He takes a photo of the sunset on the roof of his complex, sits near the edge and lets the sunshine wash over him, letting himself willingly lose time this time.

When he opens his eyes next, the parka is draped over his shoulders and there is a large thermos with no note- no expectations, a part of his mind whispers- attached near his knee.

* * *

The first time he tells one of his friends no, it is forcefully and with gasps, half afraid they will make him do it anyway and half afraid they will get angry at the way he said no.

They just give him an odd look, but shrug and suggest other things, other options, plan B. It helps some of the clenching Newton didn't realize he was still carrying in his body and mind, but not by much.

* * *

It's a year, and Newton decides he should go therapy.

It doesn't help much, but it feels nice to tell someone what happened who wasn't there, isn't biased, so he keeps going.

* * *

The thing about being a well known scientist along with PR earnings from ten years and having a best friend as one also is that he has enough funds to squat around doing a lot of nothing for the next few years, until he has to start worrying about what job to get, so he takes full advantage of it.

* * *

Newton takes up painting, because why not? It's like his tattoos but less permanent and if he doesn't like it he can burn it in a pit in the middle of nowhere or give it away if it isn't too dark.

He uses art in whatever form he can, so now, two years later he is smudged in charcoal and clay and ink, and Hermann just sighs and helps him wash under his fingernails, the most intimate things they have done to date.

Hermann even unbends enough some days to allow Newton to paint his nails a myriad of colors, green and pink and glittery purple and yellow like the sunflowers that Newton insists on keeping around the apartment, but never, ever blue or red.

The first time, Hermann had looked down and declared it satisfactory, and had gone about his business, leaving Newton to stare at the still opened bottle, then look at his own stubbornly dirty nails, and decide maybe one day he can be that bold again, but not yet. Not yet.

* * *

It's another five years and Newton wakes up crying, gasping over nightmares that never went away, only got easier to deal with, but this time he dreamt he had succeeded in killing Hermann with his hands.

He gets up unsteadily, then scribbles a quick note in the journal he always keeps at his bedside reserved for dreams, and goes to either find coffee or find Hermann, whichever comes first.

He finds Hermann's parka first: his feet get tangled up in it in the dark and he curses as he goes down, and he knows that's a sign to go find the man instead of running from his problems.

He finds him in his bed, curled up and his ugly bowl cut peeking out from underneath the blanket. He is already pulling the sheets down, having heard first the crash and then the door open, and he is questioning Newt softly if he is okay, if something happened, and it blurts out before Newton can stop it, and part of him wants to scream because _leaping before looking, Newton, goddammit_ but Hermann is only cocking his head and pulling the blanket back, patting the chilly spot in invitation.

Newton slides in carefully, careful not to touch Hermann both because Hermann has an anxiety _thing_ about being touched and both because Newton himself doesn't want to be touched yet.

Hermann immediately falls back to sleep, back to Newton, not even asking why a presumably straight man is now in his bed, just taking it for one of the many quirks Newton developed from After.

Hermann is gone when Newton finally wakes, sunlight burning at his eyelids. For the next few months, Newton only comes back when the nightmares are _really_ bad, never touching and never pushing.

Another year into this fine dance, and Newton decides to stretch his legs out, just to feel Hermann’s thigh against his, and Hermann just taps Newton’s foot with his, in recognition and hello.

It is enough for Newton.

* * *

It was especially grueling in the first year, when Newton was manic and low on some days, mostly always itching to scratch out of his own body, and fighting to remember who he was.

Sometimes in mid conversation someone will say what Newton was about to say, and his breathing will stutter because _what the fuck_ , he was _just_ about to say that, and _holy shit_ , were they in his head now too?

He will usually hightail it out of there soon, finding any reason to cut the conversation off, once even saying he got an urgent message from Hermann while _talking_ to Hermann, and he will find himself hours later under the bed, in the shower cubicle (water long gone cold) or in a closet wherever he can find one.

Hermann usually finds him, which sends him into another round of panic before being reminded, oh yeah, they had a drift and still have the ghost drift effects, almost eleven years later.

* * *

Newton doesn't lie, telling others it is any easier even now when they ask, preferring to watch their discomfort over lying about how he is. He had ten years of lying about how he is, long enough to have to relearn almost everything.

Part of Newton believes he will always wake up crying some nights, will always be writing everything about his day down- separate from his new photos album (from year 3)- will always be doing the grounding exercises his therapist suggested offhand one day, will always be having to be reminded by phone alarms and sometimes Hermann to eat, or shower, or drink some fluids, anything liquid.

He can't eat like he used to, not with how often he gets anxious, but he does his best.

* * *

Newton wakes up one day in bed, after another nightmare, to the sunlight still filtering in through the black-out curtains.

For once, Hermann does not have to be awake at the crack of dawn, and so he is still asleep next to Newton, one hand reaching out to Newton’s body, hand barely grazing his stomach, the other pushed under his own head for elevation, sunlight hitting all his sharp angles and creating shadows that Newton wants to touch softly.

The sunlight warms him under the covers, and it's been nearly ten years, and he has stopped flinching when he catches his reflection.

It still isn't easy, may never be, but he's getting there. He's working on it.

He stretches his body, rolls to face Hermann, and goes back to sleep.


End file.
